


Coming Home

by monoocularcat



Series: Full circle (all the way back to you) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, But mostly..., Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sam Winchester is a Good Bro, Smut, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unprotected Sex, Very Brief Implied Saileen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoocularcat/pseuds/monoocularcat
Summary: Dean Winchester travelling over 2000 miles to get laid? It's more likely than you think.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Full circle (all the way back to you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629694
Comments: 6
Kudos: 164





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I promised smut. Here be smut. Smutty smut smut. Oh, and some feelings. 
> 
> This is my first time writing explicit content in this fandom, and in fact it's the first time I've written anything this spicy in over a decade. I reckon that makes me fictionally rehymenated, so please be gentle.

The last pitstop of their journey is only about a hundred miles out from the bunker, a Gas’n’Sip they use regularly on the way up to Jody’s. They’re good enough customers that the staff recognise them on sight. Dean even knows some of them by name. Tonight Yannis is behind the counter. It’s usually either him or his cousin Tadeo working the graveyard shift, probably no-one else is prepared to spend their nights on a lonely road with just a bargain basement shotgun under the counter. 

“Yan, how’s it going,” he asks. He slides two packs of gum, a carton of milk, and a tube of lube onto the counter. 

“Not bad, Mr. Eno,” Yannis replies. Dean’s pretty sure Yannis knows that it’s a fake name, but he plays along and that’s why Dean likes him. “You been to see your friend in Sioux?”

“Not this time,” Dean says. “Had some business up north.”

Yannis hums as he tills through the total, his eyes passing over the items with the detachment of a retail worker who’s seen it all. “Forty-two forty-five with the gas,” he says.

Dean unfolds his wallet and pulls out some notes. He always pays cash here. These are good people and he’d rather they didn’t get any comeback if his cloned credit card ever gets busted. Not that the money is much cleaner, but it’s harder to trace at least. 

Yan puts the bills in the register and tries to hand back the change. 

Dean waves him off. “Keep it,” he says. “Grab a beer after you finish.”

Yannis slips the seven or so bucks into this jeans pocket with a grateful nod. “You and your brothers close a big deal?” he asks.

Dean feels a slight blush in his cheeks. “Oh, uh. Nearly,” he says. “And they’re not my brothers. Well, the big one is. The other one is…” Shit. “Uhh…”

“Your partner?” Yannis suggests. His mild expression never changes, although Dean’s pretty sure his face must be the very definition of bi panic.

“Great word, ‘ _ Partner’ _ ,” Yannis continues. “ Are you in business together, are you on a crime spree, are you suckin’ each others’ dicks? No-one knows. Can’t see how it’s anyone’s business either.”

Dean snatches up his purchases. He ducks his head, not quite able to maintain eye contact. “Thanks Yannis,” he says, and hurries out of the shop.

Sam and Cas are waiting for him on the forecourt. Sam has his ass perched on Baby’s trunk (they better not be his jeans with the brass rivets on the pockets) and Cas is leaning stiffly against the driver’s side window, studying the ground. There is a neon light in the forecourt roof directly above him and it casts a stark halo over the his head, bouncing brightly off the Impala’s chrome. Just for a second Dean is taken back to that first time they met - Cas’s brilliant entry into their lives - and the long road they’ve taken from there to here. Not all of it has been pretty, but it’s a testament to how much they matter to each other that they  _ always  _ fought to fix it. And as Dean watches Cas dig the toe of his boot into some loose asphalt, he realises that Yannis is absolutely right - Cas  _ is  _ his partner. And no, it doesn’t fucking matter in what way because hopefully after tonight it will be in  _ all  _ the ways. 

He feels his heart skip as an idea comes to him.

“Hey, Cas!” he calls. He fishes his keys out of his jacket pocket and hefts the bunch, testing it. “Heads up.”

Cas lifts his eyes just in time to see the keys sailing towards him and execute a perfect one-handed catch. “I don’t understand,” the angel replies, squinting as Dean comes to a stop in front of him.

“Figured me and Sammy have done enough driving for one day. You want to bring us on home?”

Cas still looks vaguely confused even as he pulls open the driver’s door. He glances at Dean quickly, and Dean nods a final confirmation. Slipping in behind the wheel, Cas takes a moment to adjust his position. He runs his hands over the leather upholstery, light and reverential. He feels for the position of the lights, the signals, slides the key into the ignition. He turns his head to stare up at Dean - Dean who is transfixed by those dancing fingers. Damn, seeing Cas touching Baby shouldn’t be getting him going, but it absolutely is.

Dean only realises he’s been staring when Sam sidles up, his approach unheard, and closes the door for him. He looks at Dean, a playful little twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” Sam says. “ _ Now _ you’re giving him the keys?”

“Get in the back, Sam.”

Sam huffs theatrically. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“Good,” Dean replies. “So put your earphones in and maybe read one of those eBooks you like.” He ushers Sam into the rear seat and then loops the trunk to climb into the front passenger seat.

He turns to Cas. “Okay, so you want to ease her into gear, then lift the clutch slowly…”

“Dean, I know how to drive.”

Dean presses his lips together.  _ Partners. _ He nods. “Just... be gentle. It’s your first time.”

“Jeez guys,” Sam grumbles, “give me a chance to find a podcast.”

Dean flips him the bird over his shoulder as Cas eases them off the forecourt and out onto the deserted road.

****

“ _ Finally, _ ” Dean groans as they dump the gear bags down at the top of the bunker’s interior staircase. 

“Bunker sweet Bunker,” Sam agrees.

And it’s true. It’s  _ great  _ to be back. But it’s also oddly surreal. Ever since he and Cas kissed, getting back here has been his endgame. He’d not really thought about exactly what they’d do when they did eventually arrive.

Cas finally joins them on the mezzanine, shutting the heavy door behind them.

Dean shoots him a smile. “Everything locked down?” he asks.

Cas nods. “Garage, outer perimeter, airlock… everything’s secure.”

Dean lets out a deep breath. “Great.”

Cas nods again.

“Super,” Dean adds.

“Oh God,” Sam appeals and jogs his way down the stairs.

Dean stretches. It’s late, by normal people standards. But ‘normal’ isn’t something Dean would call them  _ or  _ their sleep schedules. Sure he’s stiff from the drive, being cramped up in small variations of a single position for hours at a time, but he’s not  _ tired  _ per se. 

He looks at Cas, gives him a small and what he thinks should translate as a suggestive smile. “I’m going to grab a shower,” he says. “Real quick.”

“Yes. Of course,” Cas says. His eyes trail briefly over Dean and then down into the bunker, the exit to the west wing and their bedrooms. 

“ _ Rea _ l quick,” Dean repeats.

****

Fast is the plan. Dean has his usual perfunctory military showers down to under 50 seconds. Step under the water. Bar of soap. Hair, pits, dick and balls, ass. Rinse. Done. But then he catches sight of his face in the mirror. He’s got a pretty good stubble going on. Two day pants as well. He’d not had much chance to use the bathroom at the motel, not before Sam shoved him out and started retching. Now maybe for a casual lay, he wouldn’t be so bothered. He’s actually gotten pretty lucky in states he wouldn’t touch  _ himself  _ in. But some waitress with a bad boy kink ain’t Cas. Cas deserves something special.

He turns on the shower, tweaking it a little warmer than normal, and collects a clean flannel from the linen closet. The room starts to fill with steam. He strips, draping his clothes over one of the sinks. Stepping under the spray, he lets out a slight hiss, his skin immediately flushing pink as the heat brings the blood to the surface. He squirts some body wash - he thinks Eileen left it - into his flannel and gives it a cursory sniff. It doesn’t smell too flowery, more just like freshly laundered clothes straight out the drier. It lathers well and Dean scrubs himself from head to toe with it. Foam drips everywhere, maybe he overestimated how much of the stuff he’d need, and makes fluffy little mountains inside and a bit outside the cubicle. It takes him a while to rinse it off, making sure he gets into  _ all  _ the nooks and crannies. 

He’s a little more cautious with Sam’s hair products, if only because he knows how much that shit costs. The shampoo doesn’t leave his hair squeaky like the soap does. Conditioner seems excessive, but, well, he’s here and the bottles here and… 

“Fuck it,” he says aloud, spitting out some water that gets in his mouth. He squirts a blob of the goop into the palm of his hand. It’s thick and silky, not entirely unlike the lube he’s got in his jacket pocket. With a shrug, he dumps it on his head. It doesn’t lather like the shampoo, and that surprises him, so instead he cards it through his short hair. He rubs the pads of his fingers against his scalp and, mmm, that actually feels pretty good. He ducks his head back under the shower to let it all rinse off. He stays like that a little longer than necessary, just enjoying a little luxury. Then his mind refocuses on the  _ why  _ he’s even dolling himself up and he turns off the water.

He towels himself dry, he feels better already. Loose. Limber. Spiffy.

God, he just called himself ‘spiffy’.

He shaves and splashes a little cologne - the stuff his mom bought him for his number-we-don’t-mention birthday - on his smooth cheeks. Then, with a self-aware smirk, he adds a couple of dabs into the dips of his hip bones, right over the knot of vein that runs down into his groin.

Nice.

Wrapped in just a towel and dead man’s slippers, used clothes tossed over his shoulder, he saunters back into the library. Sam is sat there, alone, nursing a lead crystal tumbler of bourbon in his hand and a mostly full decanter at his side.

“Bit late for hair of the dog, isn’t it?” Dean asks.

Sam looks up, blinking as he sees a bit more of Dean than usual. “Hey, looking good,” he says. He sniffs. “Smelling good too.” His lips wobble in amusement. “Did you use Eileen’s St Ives?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what that is,” Dean replies haughtily, then crumples. “But yes, possibly.”

Sam laughs. “Wow, you’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?”

“Shut it, Sammy,” Dean says, although there’s no conviction behind it. He sighs. “Where’s Cas?” he asks. There’s no point trying to be coy at this point.

“He went down to the sleeping quarters.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Did you, uh… see which room he went in?”

“On your own there, champ.”

Dean blows out a sharp breath. “Right,” he says. “Well I better…” He finger guns down the corridor.

Before he can move, however, Sam is holding out his hand. Dean looks down at it, confused. Does Sam want to shake on it? On, what? Dean getting laid? That’s… new. Still, he extends his own hand and Sam presses their palms together. Instead of the feeling of skin though, there’s something oddly crinkly there. He withdraws his hand and looks at what Sam has passed to him; a little silvery square packet with a handy, easy-peel corner.

“Oh my God,” Dean says.

Sam gives him an appraising look. “I just want you to be prepared.”

“Jeez, Sam. You think I don’t keep a rubber on me? I’m not a beast.”

“I think that condom in your wallet is three years past its expiration date.”

Dean scowls. “It’s not been that…” he stops himself short, because it probably actually  _ has _ . Also, something else is bothering him. “What do you mean ‘expiration date’?”

Sam closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head. “Just be a class act. Give him the choice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, slipping the condom into his jacket pocket, alongside the lube. “Alright.”

“Now, shoo. You kids have fun. Ideally quietly.” He lifts the crystal tumbler in his hand in a salute. “Some things that go bump in the night  _ really  _ aren’t my business.”

He’s about to take a sip to solemnise the toast, but Dean intercepts the glass, stealing it away. He knocks the pilfered bourbon back in a single shot, sucks in air to quell the burn, and hands the empty back to Sam. 

“Yep, needed that,” he adds, hoarsely.

Sam’s cry of ‘ _ Jerk _ ’ follows him down the hall.

****

“Cas?” 

Dean stands in front of his bedroom door, unsure what waits for him within. He considers knocking, but it’s his own freaking room and frankly that just feels weird. Either way, there’s no reply to his call, so he nudges the door open and peeks inside.

Definitely no Cas.

Okay. Good. This is good. This is fine. If Cas had been waiting for him, and Dean walked in pretty much naked, that would’ve been uncomfortable. There’s no guarantee that Cas even wants to hop straight in bed with him. Maybe slow and steady would be best. Dean has to laugh at himself for that. When has slow and steady ever been the Winchester way? Headlong, thrown in at the deep-end, shit creek with no paddle is more how they roll. And Cas has done enough of that himself to earn an honorary place as a Winchester. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s getting laid.

He throws his dirty clothes at the foot of his bed and hooks his jacket over the back of his chair. The next port of call for his attention is what to wear. Pajamas would be the most convenient, both to get into and back out of, but they’re not exactly in keeping with him making an effort. Still, he doesn’t want to go too formal, that’s not what he is to Cas either.

Okay. First things first. His favourite underpants, comfy yet flatteringly snug, are a no-brainer. Socks? Socks are an odd part of getting laid and in this situation Dean decides just to skip them, on the off chance that is on the cards. He turns to his closet. There’s not a huge amount in there that hasn’t got ingrained blood on it truth be told, but finally he settles on a dark red long sleeve t-shirt with a cut-out neck. It’s jersey cotton, soft against his skin. He pulls on a clean pair of dark denim jeans. He checks himself out in his mirror, running his fingers through his still faintly damp hair. 

“Eye of the Tiger,” he tells his reflection. He tugs his jacket up to delve into the pocket, pulling out the lube and the condom and tucking them in the back pocket of his jeans. 

He’s got this.

****

The door to Cas’s room makes it all real. Dean fidgets on the threshold for a moment before knocking.

“Come in, Dean.”

Dean takes a breath and squares his shoulders before swinging the door open. Cas is inside. He’s already on his feet, but he almost comes to attention as Dean enters. His coat and jacket are hung up on the hook on the wall. His tie is pulled loose but is still on - and Dean is quietly pleased about that.

Dean flashes Cas a grin as he closes the door behind himself. “How’d you know it was me?” he asks.

“I felt the odds were in my favour.”

“A gambling man, I like it.” He throws in a wink for good measure.

Cas tips his head to one side, brow furrowing slightly. “It doesn’t feel like I’m taking a chance with you.”

Those words knock every bit of bravura clear away from Dean. He swallows, throat thick. “Cas…”

Cas is the first to break eye contact. He gestures at the bed. “Care to sit?”

It takes Dean’s brain a beat to catch up. “Oh, yeah. Right,” he says. He crosses the room to perch himself on the edge of Castiel’s bed. Cas tugs up his slacks and then sits down beside Dean. The bed gives a little creak in response.

“Well,” Dean says. He lapses into silence.

“This is awkward,” Cas observes after a long minute.

Dean has to laugh. “No shit,” he says. 

This is largely unfamiliar territory to him. Most of his romantic experience has been heat of the moment stuff. Even his few longer-term relationships tended to fall into a pattern: from passion to familiarity to affection. This is all backwards. He already cares about Cas. How do you move from friends to… whatever they’re gonna become? It’s definitely going to take more than just keep getting into situations like last night where one thing leads to another.

“Let’s talk,” he suggests.

Cas nods thoughtfully. “What do you want to talk about?”

Dean casts about the room for anything to start a conversation, anything easier than ‘so are we a couple now?’ His eyes alight on a record player, more modern than the native objects of the bunker, but still retro - maybe early 70s.

“Where’d you get that,” he says, nodding at the kit on Cas’s desk.

Cas seems relieved, pleased maybe, by the question. He stands back up and crosses to the record player, lifting the smoke-grey lid. “I found it at a garage sale,” he says.

“A… garage sale,” Dean asks. It’s so  _ normal _ . If Cas had said it had once housed the soul of Miles Davis, that he would’ve accepted without question. Cas going to a garage sale? That’s wild.

“Yes. I thought that as I was making this my permanent residence, I should personalise my space a little.”

“Yeah, no. Of course,” Dean says hurriedly. “You have any good tracks?”

Cas stoops and pulls out a box of records from under the desk. “I’m not sure if I have any you’ll like.”

Dean shrugs, “Then put something on you like.”

Cas’s eyes light up. “Alright,” he says. He selects one of the sleeves and slides out the 12 inch. He places it on the turntable and turns a dial. The record begins to spin and the needle autos into place. Dean doesn’t recognise the swaying beat that starts to play, but it’s calm and kind of chill. 

“This is my jam,” Cas says, turning back to him. 

The way he says it is so deadpan, so incongruous, so perfectly  _ Cas _ , that Dean laughs. He pats the bed beside him. “Come sit with me again,” he says.

Cas obliges, but this time doesn’t bother putting any distance between them. The weight of his thigh pressed to Dean’s stirs up thoughts of last night and Dean feels the same cautious spark ignite low in his belly. He turns his head to look at Cas, at his sharp jaw and soft lips. He sees Cas’s nose flare, just slightly, and then the angel turns to face him too. There’s barely any space between them and perhaps even less air in the room as Cas licks his lips to speak.

“Dean,” he says, and it’s a word he’s said a thousand times but somehow manages to make it sound new every one. “I know I can sometimes be rash and impetuous.”

Dean’s cheek ticks in a half-smile. “Well, yeah, but look who you’re talking to.”

Cas returns the smile with something small and fond. “I just want you to know this isn’t a snap decision. I have thought about you… about us… for a long time now.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“We were busy,” Cas says with a shrug. “The world kept ending.”

“The apocalypse is never an excuse to not get laid.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I was also unsure if you liked…” He gestures down the length of his body.

“Guys?” Dean suggests.

Cas’s eyes pinch and he snorts a little. “Dean, I have seen your soul. I know exactly how much and every kind of love you are capable of.”

Dean sucks a breath at that. It’s a hell of a statement. Almost brutally honest. But it’s also darkly intimate, a sense that grows with every second he stares at Cas’s face.  _ Every kind _ covers a lot of ground, and Cas is saying he knows it all and he’s still here. 

“Then what was the problem?” he asks quietly.

“I wasn’t sure you liked  _ me _ .”

A nervous laugh breaks from between Dean’s lips. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you?” He pauses for a second thought. “I mean, you  _ don’t _ , do you?”

“No,” Cas assures. “I have always tried to respect your privacy in those matters.”

“Kind of a shame, really,” Dean replies. “If you’d taken a peek, maybe you’d’ve realised how hard you get me.”

Cas licks his lips. Dean follows the path of his tongue with fascination, the dark slit of his mouth. He aches to taste it, to feel the heat of Cas’s mouth, his body.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice pure velvet.

_ Fuck it _ , Dean thinks, surging forward to close the slender gap between them.

Cas responds immediately, a low growl vibrating against Dean’s lips. His fingers tangle into Dean’s hair, tugging him closer, setting fire to the kiss.

The flood of sensation, the shock to the system of Cas’s urgent, demanding kisses, blanks out Dean’s brain for a good couple of seconds. The intensity of it borders on too much, until it isn’t enough. In their current position, still side by side and twisted into each other from the torso up, there’s only so much access Dean has to Cas’s body. And he wants more. 

Luckily Cas is on the same page. He breaks the kiss to stand, Dean whining involuntarily at the loss of contact. Any mournful cry is silenced, however, as Cas straddles his hips, knees going deep into the mattress either side of Dean and forcing him to shuffle back on the bed. The weight of Cas in his lap; the way their bodies meet in this new position; the fact that he can now grab Cas’s ass in both hands and squeeze; it’s all driving Dean mad. 

Cas kisses him sweet, kisses him dirty. Fuck, he just  _ kisses  _ him like it’s the only thing that matters. And to Dean, it is. He gives back everything he gets, tries to catch Cas off-guard by snagging his lip with his teeth and earns another of those electrifying growls and Cas grinding against him as a reward. His hips cant up into it automatically, and Cas tips his head to the ceiling to gasp heavenward. The curve of his neck is an irresistible invite to Dean, a long expanse of skin to lick and nibble and kiss and suck. He feels the heavy bob of Cas’s Adam’s apple as he does, the shuddering, uncontrolled breaths Cas takes as they rut against each other. He’s absolutely certain Cas could get him off like this, just from frustration and friction and that wonderful mouth. 

The only real question remaining is does he  _ want  _ him to?

Something in his actions must give his indecision away, as Cas hesitates and looks back down into Dean’s eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not a damn thing,” Dean answers honestly. “You’re perfect.”

Cas’s mouth twitches into a bashful yet pleased smile. “I’m sure I’m not.” A little extra mischief is added to his expression. “Perhaps a seven out of ten.” 

As casual as Cas makes it sound, Dean’s been hustling poker and pool too long to not see the tell in his eyes; a player recognising a player. The uncertainty under Cas’s confidence is a rubber band around Dean’s heart. He reaches for and takes one of Cas’s hands, weaving together their fingers. Then he guides Cas’s hand down between their bodies, watching Cas’s face intently as he goes. The angel’s eyes only widen, his pupils swallowing the blue, as Dean lays Cas’s hand over the hard ridge of his cock trapped under denim.

“That’s not a seven,” Dean says, holding back the hiss that the touch makes him want to take. “That is a solid ten. Trust me.”

Cas licks his lips, another of his tells. “I think…” he says, “I think we should be wearing fewer clothes.”

Dean laughs. Cas’s disarming candour has always been his undoing. “Buddy, you read my mind.”

He snags Cas’s mouth once more, not as deeply as before but kissing him like he’s breathing through it, snatching Cas’s lips over and over; pulling away and diving back in. As he does, he blindly feels for Cas’s tie, fingers working the knot. Once it’s undone he tugs it free and tosses it on the bed, turning then to each of the closed buttons on Cas’s shirt. He punctuates unfastening each one with a kiss, a reward; whether for himself or Cas he’s not sure. Cas’s hand is still on his dick, alternating between teasing him with featherlight touches and taunting him with pressure from the heel of his palm. It’s so perfectly balanced, keeping Dean right on the knife-edge of pleasure, that Cas has to have done it before. Maybe that’s how Cas likes to treat himself and, hell, Dean’s only complaint is that it isn’t helping him not come in his pants.

It doesn’t take long until all Cas’s buttons are undone, each delicious inch of newly uncovered skin practically begging Dean to worship it. He pushes the fabric off Cas’s shoulders, and Cas shucks the shirt to the ground. 

“Your turn,” Cas murmurs, plucking the soft jersey with his fingers and guiding it up and over Dean’s head. Dean’s world turns crimson for a few seconds as the fabric covers his eyes and then he’s free for as long as it takes Cas to claim his lips again. And as delightful as it is that he can now feel Cas’s bare chest pressed to his, their current position is not going to get them any closer to naked than they already are.

“You gotta… You gotta get off,” he gasps, straight into Cas’s mouth.

Cas pulls back a little way, just far enough for Dean to see the confusion in his eyes. “I thought that’s what we were doing?” he asks.

Dean groans. Cas has picked a fine time to start picking the dirty side of a double entendre. “No. Off my  _ lap _ ,” he says gruffly. “Unless you plan on using your mojo to magic away my pants.”

It’s almost embarrassing how fast Cas scrambles off his knee. “I would much rather take them off you the traditional way,” he says.

Dean’s almost as quick as Cas was in getting to his feet. He grins. “That works for me.” 

Cas reaches for him, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s jeans. The muscles of his bare arms barely flex but the force he uses to pull Dean closer is really freaking hot. They crash together, and Dean feels a new wave of arousal hit at the sound of skin slapping on skin and the way their hips lock together. Without even really meaning to, he grinds against Cas, thrusting up with the only advantage he has; a couple of inches of height. Cas staggers, Dean might even go so far as to say  _ swoons _ , and he buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. Hot, damp breaths flow over Dean’s shoulder, morphing into salving kisses as Cas gains control again. 

“You know,” the angel rumbles, nipping at Dean’s clavicle, “I have watched over Earth for so long, I have seen every sexual act played out.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks as Cas licks the same spot. “All of ‘em?”

“All.”

“Kinky.”

Cas’s fingers trail down Dean’s chest and stomach, drawing a ‘v’ inwards until they rest on the denim either side of Dean’s top button. “Not really,” he says. “I saw them take place, but I never  _ felt  _ anything about them _. _ ”

Finally, Cas undoes Dean's jeans and lowers his zipper. The heavy denim falls away, pooling around Dean's ankles

Cas's gaze travels the full length of Dean's body. “You make me feel so many things."

“Whoosh, ha, uh-huh.” Dean’s mind has fritzed, a combination of Cas’s sultry confession and the loss of restrictive denim. He’s so hard his briefs can barely contain him and his leaking dick has drawn a wet line in the fabric. 

Cas doesn’t seem to have any intention of letting Dean catch his breath however, falling to his knees before him. His hands hold Dean’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows of his pelvis, and he nuzzles his nose, his chin, his  _ lips _ into Dean’s crotch. Dean whimpers as Cas mouths him, sucks and licks his cotton-clad dick. Cas is chasing the trail of precome dampening the cloth, kissing up the length of Dean’s shaft. It’s almost impossible for Dean to not be reckless, to rock his hips and fuck himself against Cas’s mouth. Not even  _ in  _ it, that’s how desperate he is; how perfect Cas’s mouth is.

Finally, though, Cas takes pity on him: only in as much as he stretches the waistband of Dean’s underwear over the head of his cock and pulls them down to his knees. They drop the rest of the way themselves, joining his jeans around his ankles. Dean looks down as Cas looks up at him. Those blue eyes hold many things: a request, some need, longing, pleasure, worry. Cas licks his lips.

“Please,” Dean whispers.

That’s as much as it takes for Cas to dip his head and takes Dean’s tip between his saliva-slick lips.

Dean jerks into the sensation, but finds himself held still by Cas’s rough grip. Cas focuses on the tip of Deans dick; lapping the slit, hollowing his cheeks to tease more precome from it. All Dean can do is gasp and whimper and twist his fingers into Cas’s hair. He slips lower onto the shaft, taking Dean deeper. It’s hot, wet, gloriously indecent. After... fuck who knows how long and who’s even counting, Cas pulls back. 

“You taste so good,” he says. His voice is gravel, grating against itself.

Dean’s fingers tighten their grip in Cas’s hair. “Fuck, who taught you to talk like that?”

“It’s the truth,” Cas says. 

Dean curses under his breath. He’s certain he’s done enough bad in his life to not deserve this. Cas, who has always been more likely to give than take. Cas, a literal Angel of the erstwhile Lord, on his knees in front of him and offering a blowjob like a benediction.

Dean’s hand slides through Cas’s hair until it rests on the back of his neck. He places the other on Cas’s shoulder.

“Get back up here,” he says. The words aren’t necessarily what his dick wants, they might not even be what his head wants. But they are - and, yes, he’s gonna say it - what his heart wants.

Dean takes the opportunity as Cas stands to step out of his pants and kick them somewhere deeper into the room. There’s a perplexed tilt to Cas’s head as he stands, something that saps some of the heat of the moment but replaces it with such fondness that Dean has to blink away the very start of tears. He kisses Cas, slow but not too deep, just savouring the feeling of connection, of shared space and air and desire. Still, he can taste himself on Cas’s tongue, the sweet and salt of arousal, and it is both debauched and incredible. His senses whirl: taste, touch, smell and the most basic parts of him are wrapping Cas into his arms, pulling him close, surrounding and cradling the angel’s body with his own.

Cas breaks the kiss first, eyes searching Dean’s for understanding. Dean’s not sure he can give it. He’s not sure he understands it himself. But he tries. 

“This isn’t just about me,” he says. “It’s about  _ us _ . I want us to do it together.” He swallows, making a decision. “I want you inside me. If…” He checks Cas’s face, suddenly aware that all of that came out in one breath. “If that’s what you want, too.”

Cas reaches out, cupping Dean’s cheek. His thumb sweeps over the high arch of his cheekbone. “I want  _ you _ ,” he confirms softly. His lips twitch, a question there. “Is that… how you prefer it?”

A furious blush breaks out under Cas’s thumb. Dean is stood butt naked, his dick arching up so it’s nearly touching his stomach and practically dripping with arousal, but Cas asking him does he like to top or bottom, that’s what’s got him.

“I uh, both is good,” admits Dean. “But, with you, right now, I think... yeah.” 

Cas smiles, a slow but brilliant smile that’s both reassured and reassuring. “Then… for  _ right now _ ...” His hands move to his own belt, fingers working the leather through the buckle. 

“Let me,” Dean murmurs, brushing Cas’s hands away and taking over. 

Cas’s belt slides smoothly through the loops of his slacks and Dean drops it to the ground with a clunk. Another couple of seconds and his pants are gone too, leaving him in just his loose, white boxers; boxers that are tented rather impressively. Nothing - literally nothing - gets Dean as horny as seeing someone he’s with is turned on too. A wet pussy, a hard dick… that’s the good shit right there. 

He swallows down a flood of saliva. God he wants to get Cas in his mouth, deep and wet and messy. Dean likes that, he’s good at that, but he can also tell by the rapid rise and fall of Cas’s chest that they’re already past that point.

Dean runs his fingers over the stretch of Cas’s abdomen just above the waistband of his underwear. Cas’s breath shudders in response, his pupils dilating at each new touch. When Dean reaches the boundary of skin and cotton, he pulls back the elastic with one crooked finger. He delves into the gap with his other hand, taking a firm grip on Cas’s cock.

Cas’s reaction is electric. He arches into the touch desperately, canting his hips. He makes a series of guttural noises that  _ could  _ be enochian, or could just be mindless lust. Dean feels the pulse of blood that swells Cas’s cock even further, and he strokes Cas a couple of times for good measure. 

“Dean, that’s… that’s…”

“Good?” Dean suggests.

Cas amanges a small, shaky nod. “Indescribably so.”

“Just you wait, sunshine,” Dean says with a smirk.

He guides Cas’s underwear down over his thighs, taking care to not let the fabric catch on the flushed tip of Cas’s dick. Cas steps out of all of his discarded clothing, bringing him close enough to Dean that their bodies bump. Dean’s cock nudges the back of his hand and, oh that just won’t do. He shuffles a little closer, lining them up and then altering his grip so he has both of them wrapped in his palm.

“Ohhhh,” Cas moans, and Dean can only agree. He tries a small thrust, but their cocks slide against each other imperfectly. Dean’s hand can only reach so far around the circumference of them both together, and he can’t get the pressure quite right. But before he can bring his other hand up to close the loop, Cas’s fingers are there instead, weaving in with Dean’s to make a full circle. With the first pass of their joined hands, Dean goes weak. He melts into Cas, and Cas is right there with him. It only takes a few more strokes, a couple of thrusts, before they synchronise. Their bodies press at so many points, each one somehow fuzzy and distinct all at once. They lean on each other, paired hands trapped between them. The room fills with the sound of gasps, moans, snatched kisses and the obscene interaction of skin, sweat and precome. 

Dean only realises he’s been backing - or been backed, he’s really not sure - against the bed when the frame hits the back of his calves. However he got there, it seems like a very good idea. He drops himself to the mattress, pulling Cas down with him. The pair of them let out little ‘oofs’ as they land, noises that get swallowed as they kiss. Dean draws his knees up a little to let his hips go loose, and Cas settles into the gap. The angel is not slight. Over the years his body has honed from what Jimmy’s was into that of a fighter, a hunter, of  _ Castiel. _ The stretch to accommodate him burns the muscles in the inside of Dean’s thighs. It’s a reminder - a promise - of what’s to come.

Dean is quickly lost to the moment. They both are. Touching, testing, tasting. Cas discovers that Dean’s ultimate weakness is the length of skin from just under his armpit to the dip of his waist, and that running his blunt fingernails down Dean’s side can make Dean whimper and twist against the sheets. Equally, Dean discovers that Cas’s nipples are so sensitive that even just a flick of his tongue over the pert points is enough to send Cas into cursing, careless pleasure. 

They wreck the bed trying to get enough of each other, sheets tangled and pillows thrown or scrunched into balls. They’ve ended up lengthwise because that’s the easiest way to contain two fully grown guys; Cas rocked back on his haunches between Dean’s legs. His hands stroke the inside of Dean’s thighs, teasing them further apart, then circling round to the back and up to his ass. Dean lifts his hips to give him better access, shameless in the most literal sense of the word. They’ve been allies and enemies, friends and now… something more. There’s no part of Dean that isn’t the angel’s if he asks.

Cas's curious fingers finally make it to Dean's crease, dipping inside and running the length from coccyx to perineum. The feel of the pad of Cas's finger on the smooth skin just behind his balls makes Dean shudder, and his hole flutters even just from the transient pressure and friction. 

Cas gives a pleased hum and repeats the action, lingering a little longer this time over Dean’s entrance. Dean tilts his pelvis further but it’s apparently not enough for Cas. He grasps Dean’s hips and pulls him closer, handling him easily into a more available position.

“Show off,” Dean whines breathlessly.

A smirk twitches Cas’s lips. “I could always carry you over to the desk to finish this, or perhaps you’d rather wrap your legs around my waist while I take you against a wall?”

He says it so innocently, simple statements, but the fact that these are two of Dean’s top five wank-bank fantasies - alongside the whole  _ Jesus fucking Christ  _ of it - is telling.

“Respecting my privacy...” Dean grumbles, playfully pinching Cas’s thigh.

“I said  _ try _ ,” Cas points out. He leans in and presses a kiss to the centre of Dean’s chest before lifting his eyes up the length of Dean’s torso. His eyes flash, natural blue crackling with veins of grace. “I’m only seraphim.”

That deep, dark voice; Cas’s hands either side of his chest; his knee tucked up under Dean’s balls… Dean has never felt so vulnerable and open and  _ turned the fuck on _ , because this is  _ Cas _ and - for all that - he knows he’s absolutely safe.

He swallows hard. “You’re not  _ only  _ anything,” he says.

A soft smile pulls Castiel’s face, his eyes dipping bashfully. He crawls further up Dean’s body to bury his nose into the joint of Dean’s neck and collar. He kisses there and continues up to Dean’s ear.

“I’m only yours,” he whispers, once there.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, the salt sting of tears pressing behind his eyelids. He’s known that for years, for almost as long as he’s known that he’s Cas’s. 

The bed rocks, and without warning the pressure and warmth over him are gone. Dean sits up, blinking.

“Where are you going?” he asks Cas, who is on his feet and scouting around the desk.

Cas stoops, snatching up Dean’s jeans. He starts rummaging in them. “Hmm?” he asks. “Oh, well, I am of the understanding that - while not entirely essential - sex of this nature is more enjoyable when… ah!”

He pulls the lube out of the back pocket, alongside the foil-wrapped condom and shows them both to Dean, letting the denim once more fall to the ground.

Dean snorts. “And your spidey sense just told you I came packing?”

Cas tips his head, his smile equally lopsided. “Well that and I saw you buy it at the gas station.”

He makes his way back to the bed. He tosses the lube up to beside where Dean is sitting and crawls up the mattress to kneel in front of him. He flashes the condom, holding it between index and middle finger. “I’m not sure prophylaxis is necessary,” he says. “Nephilim follow the basic biological rules of human reproduction.”

“That is…” Dean hiccups nervously. That hadn’t even crossed his mind. “...Really freaking good to know.”

Cas smiles. “Nor do either of us have any communicable diseases.”

“Also a plus,” Dean replies. “But there’s other reasons you might wanna…” He nods at the condom. “Some guys find it helps them go longer. And it’s, you know, less messy.”

“Do you want me to wear it?”

Dean’s always played safe in his fly-by-night fucks, he’s not that much of a dumbass, but he’s also been with some guys long enough to learn his preference when it becomes an option. The extra drag, the intensity. He thinks of Cas sinking into him, fucking him hard and fast until he spills inside him. Even the sweet, warm trickle that comes afterwards just feels  _ better _ than that sudden emptiness that you get otherwise. 

He shakes his head.

With a twitch of his eyebrow, Cas tosses the unopened condom on the bedside table. 

“Hands and knees,” he prompts.

The air catches in Dean’s throat even as he obliges, shuffling and twisting himself into position.

Warmth floods his back as Cas drapes himself over it, a series of kisses peppering his shoulders. “Beautiful,” he purrs into Dean’s ear.

Dean squirms. Face first in pillows, ass raised up to the heavens and his dick drooling onto the sheets beneath him; he’s pretty sure ‘beautiful’ is the last thing he is. But Cas doesn’t do flattery or false statements, and that’s what’s embarrassing. Because Dean knows Cas  _ means  _ it.

He hears Cas tear the protective film off the tube of lube and the soft pop of the lid flipping. The lube makes a wet noise as Cas decants it, and Dean rubs the sheen of perspiration from his brow and onto the balled up pillow below him.

Achingly slowly, Cas kisses down his spine. The last kiss falls just above the crease of his ass but Dean feels himself immediately spread by slick fingers. He rocks back on instinct as Cas strokes over his hole. The sensation is different from before, the slide is easier but Cas’s touch is firmer and more purposeful. Again Dean presses back against him.

“You not had enough of  _ watching _ humanity?” Dean taunts, urgency giving his voice a harder edge than he means.

Cas chuckles. Dean feels the pressure grow, the blunt end of one of Cas’s fingers stretching the ring of muscle. And then it gives, and Dean lets out a low groan on his held breath.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Soon,” Cas promises.

It’s been long enough since Dean did this that the foreignness of the sensation has his fingers digging into the sheets and draws panting gasps from between his lips. Not pain, but certainly not pleasure. Not yet. He feels his erection soften slightly as Cas works into him. It’s probably for the best. If he’d stayed as worked up as he was, he’d probably have shot his load the second Cas got his dick inside him.

Slowly, though, the strangeness of the stretch passes and Dean’s breathing levels. His attention dives inwards: to every fluttering muscle; the fullness; the overspill of lube that dribbles over the sensitive skin between his ass and balls. Cas is  _ so  _ close to that sweet spot inside him, making his nerves cry out with each shallow thrust. He rocks backwards with a whine, trying to get the  _ more _ he’s craving.

“Tell me what you need,” Cas says, his voice low but with an edge of command that makes Dean shiver.

“There’s a… fuck… something. I dunno. I didn’t…” Cas’s finger again just falls short of where he needs it. “It feels good if...”

Somehow, from all of that, Cas understands. “You mean your prostate,” he says. “I didn’t want to hurt you by penetrating you too deeply.”

Dean manages to laugh, albeit shakily. “You’ll be deeper than that soon, big boy.”

Cas hums above him, a noise that wraps together agreement, pleasure and amusement. “I suppose that’s true.” Dean feels the extra fullness as Cas pushes his finger further on the next stroke. Cas lingers in that state, and Dean senses the different pressures inside him.

“There?” Cas asks.

Dean whines. It’s close. “A little more.”

Cas changes the angle, takes his cue from Dean’s shaky breath. “Better?”

“Harder.”

Cas obliges and Dean nearly collapses under him because it’s  _ perfect.  _ “Oh, fuck. Yes.”

Repeating the action, Cas somehow manages to make perfect even better. “Is that correct now?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” Dean gasps, snatching at enough air to speak each time Cas massages that magnificent spot inside him. “Ten out of ten. A-plus. Eight point oh.” He’s babbling, and he knows it, and he doesn’t care. He’s light-headed and loose and  _ ready  _ in every part of his body and mind _.  _ What Cas is doing to him right now is so glorious that his body has surrendered, utterly. He could come, easily, from this: come with a shattering intensity that would leave him breathless and boneless and  _ done _ . But he doesn’t  _ just  _ want to come. He wants Cas to come too. 

“Get in me. Now,” he gasps. The words - knowing they will necessitate Cas stopping, however briefly - cost him the very last of his control.

Cas hesitates, going still. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” Dean replies, and it sounds very much like pleading. “I need you.”

“You have me.” Cas’s words hit like a rolling wave, helping make the sudden withdrawal of his finger bearable. “You’ve always had me.” 

It’s all Dean can do not to break at that.

“Face me.” Again the instruction has a sense of an order, and that’s okay because Dean is struggling to think on his own. 

“You wanna do it that way?” Dean asks, even as he turns once more onto his back. He hisses as his cock slaps up against his stomach; once again full and leaking heavily from Cas’s efforts.

“I want to see you,” Cas murmurs. He’s kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, lining them up, holding Dean’s pelvis tilted up off the mattress. “I want to see every ecstacy, feel every drop of pleasure.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut for a second. The things Cas is saying, the grip of his fingers, the possessive desire in his gaze. It’s… a lot. A lot for someone like Dean who honestly never thought anything like this could be his. 

“You want to make love to me,” he says, almost breathless from the revelation that passes his lips.

Cas leans in, kissing him sweetly on the lips even as his dick nudges and slides against Dean’s hole. “Yes Dean,” he says seriously, almost mocking. “I want to make love to you.”

He slicks himself up quickly and shuffles in a little closer. Their eyes meet. Dean nods.

The stretch is greater, the fullness more overwhelming, as Cas sinks into him. But this time Dean’s body welcomes it from the start. It’s like coming home, that feeling of relief and rightness that you’re where you’re supposed to be. Cas eyes flutter closed but his mouth drops slightly open as he buries himself. He exhales with a tremulous ‘oh’ and steadies himself from a sway. Dean catches his arm and squeezes it, prompting Cas to open his eyes and look at him.

“Okay?” Dean asks.

Cas blows out a breath, licks his dry lips. “I’m wondering if the desensitising effects of a condom might have been wise after all.”

Dean smiles. It breaks into a grin. “Cas, baby. Wherever you’re at, I promise I’m right there with you.”

“I just want it to be good for you.” Cas blushes as he says it. 

“It will be.”

Cas nods, Dean’s vow apparently enough to convince him to move. He starts slow but deep, withdrawing almost to the point of pulling out before sinking back in until his balls nuzzle against Dean’s ass. Each time Dean nearly loses him he whimpers, and with each long thrust he gasps. Cas might not have a harp, but the way he is playing Dean has every string of him taut and thrumming. And it’s beautiful, wonderful, imperfect in that way sex usually is. Dean wants to tip up and kiss that wrinkle of concentration folded between Cas’s eyebrows, to laugh at the way his nostrils flare with every stroke. The slap of skin and the slurping of lube gathering around his hole are not a symphony, but mixed with their shared gasps, the little murmurs of praise Dean can’t help but provide, and the low grunts of effort Cas is making; it’s a sweeter kind of music.

It’s on maybe the fifth or sixth stroke that Cas connects with Dean’s prostate, and Dean cries out as he does. His muscles tense involuntarily and senseless words spill out of his mouth, a random mix of swearing and pleading. The effect on Cas is equally electric. He collapses inward with a long, hoarse cry, position shifting so his weight transfers from his knees to his arms braced either side of Dean’s chest. He’s now close enough to lean in and kiss the curses straight from Dean’s lips, and he does; swallowing down each like they taste like heaven. At the same time, his hips snap back as his next thrust stutters, the more shallow drive allowing him to find the same spot again.

“Fuck, oh fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps as blinding white heat courses through him. He grips Cas’s shoulders, using the firm musculature of Cas’s back to anchor himself. 

The new position brings them closer in every sense. Cas thrusts into him and Dean rocks to meet each movement. His dick, trapped between them, benefits from the rhythmic friction of their bodies. He can feel the pressure building in him, that tell-tale tug in his balls. He’s hungry to come, to tip over the precipice. A detached part of him doesn’t want to let go, it wants to last as long as possible and to feel Cas hammer into him over and over and over. But he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Cas, too, seems to be approaching the edge, his control faltering as he now pumps hard and fast; shorter drives that connect more often with Dean’s prostate.

Cas gasps, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Dean. Dean I’m…”

“Close,” Dean provides for him. “Me, too.”

Another couple of thrusts and Dean’s orgasm hits him like a freight train, rattling through his body, shaking him to his core. He’s arched off the bed, twisting against the sheets, letting Cas hold him even as the angel keeps hammering into him. It passes after what seems like an age, and he collapses in on himself: nerves shot to the point of stillness.

Cas’s mouth has dropped open, his breath is hard and ragged but the look in his eyes is one of total awe. All sense of rhythm has gone from his movements, he’s no longer in control. He’s sweating, and Cas  _ never  _ sweats. Dean reaches up and wipes a bead of it away from his brow.

“Come for me, angel,” he says.

Cas grunts and gives three short thrusts, and then he’s spilling into Dean. It’s a slap of warmth as the wetness floods him. Cas rides it out, through a couple more sloppy and half-hearted strokes that have him screwing his eyes closed. Then his elbows buckle, and he’s flopping forward. Dean oofs as Cas’s weight hits him, still sensitised enough to make Cas landing on him a little uncomfortable. Still, he reaches his arms around Cas’s back and holds him in place, rubbing in small circles. Cas’s nose nestles into the crook of Dean’s neck, his stubble chafing slightly as he mouths at the skin. His softening dick slips out of Dean and that’s okay, because Dean’s got the rest of him right here. 

After a few moments, Cas stirs and Dean loosens his grip to allow him to roll off and to the side. Cas sprawls bonelessly beside him, tucking one arm behind his head. Dean gives him another few seconds and then slides into it, rolling onto his side so he can hook one arm over Cas’s chest and tangle their legs together. Cas wriggles in, allowing Dean to use his chest as a pillow.

There’s silence between them, a silence that highlights the other tiny noises and sensations in the room. The old radiator in the corner gurgles a little. Cas’s breathing, slow and steady. The room is warm, but there’s a cold draught playing over Dean’s feet. He stretches low enough to catch a corner of one of Cas’s covers, and pulls it up over them.

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly. Dean’s not sure if it’s about the blanket or… everything else. Neither of them are exactly the most talkative of people, but it actually feels important to Dean that he  _ try _ right now. Maybe it’s Sammy’s words haunting him, that Cas shouldn’t expect him to put it all out there, that makes him want to do it. Or maybe it’s just that - even having saved the world a half dozen times over - this is a big fucking deal, for both of them. Falling asleep doesn’t seem  _ enough _ to mark the culmination of a decade of friendship and longing and the rightness of having found each other like this.

“Cas,” he says softly. Cas turns to look at him.

Dean licks his lips. Damn, this should be easier. They just had sex. They just  _ made love _ . And still it’s tough to know what to say. “Was that okay,” seems like a dumbass question. They both know it was okay. It was more than okay. Dean came so hard he virtually blacked out, and hell if Cas didn’t do the same. 

There’s no judgement in Cas’s eyes as he holds Dean’s gaze. Maybe a bit of curiosity, but mostly a look of adoration that makes it hard not to fall apart. God, how many times has Dean seen that expression on the angel’s face and dismissed it. Or worse, how many times has he seen it and ached for it to mean more than what he thought it meant - only to now find out it always did. 

He lifts his hand to run a thumb over Cas’s lips. They’re still dark pink from exertion, and dry patches snag Dean’s skin. Cas kisses the soft pad and Dean’s stomach flips, and what he needs to say suddenly clicks.

“Cas,” he repeats. “You… you make me feel a lot of things too.”

“Dean, you don’t have to…”

Dean shushes him. “Well I’m gonna, so deal with it.”

Cas nods, pressing his lips tightly together in adorable obedience.

“I didn’t know what to make of you when you first flapped your feathered ass into my life, but you just… stayed, as much as you could. Ain’t a lot of people have done that.”

Cas makes a low whine in his throat, sadness and displeasure.

“When I’m with you, I just feel like I’m better. Like I can do more. Like together we’re gonna get whatever is in front of us done. I guess… you make me feel safer. More at ease with myself. Mostly-” He takes a deep breath. “Mostly you make me feel like it’s okay to feel things.”

Cas smiles softly, but it turns crooked after a heartbeat. “Is one of those things I make you feel ‘horny’?” he asks.

Dean scowls. “Hey, I’m trying to tell you that I love you, man.”

Cas sweeps the irritation away with a quick kiss. “I know,” he says, planting another on the tip of Dean’s nose. “I was just trying to save you the discomfort of a ‘chick flick moment’.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, snuggling back into Cas’s side. “Well I’m having this one.”

“Good,” Cas replies with a deep sigh that lifts Dean’s head and then lets it fall. “Because I love you too.”

Dean lets his eyes drift close.

Now he really is home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Opposable_t) and I like to chat so why not follow me there?


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